


Wilted

by orphan_account



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Bulimia, Eating Disorders, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 16:56:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8852923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Josh Dun is the talk of the school.





	

Josh Dun is the talk of the school.

Always has been, always will be.

 

Josh Dun used to be the talk of the school because of his charming personality and model good looks. You couldn’t get that far down the hallway without hearing “have you _seen_ Josh’s abs?” or “he’s such a sweetheart, too.” And this was all true, because Josh _did_ have great abs, and he _was_ such a sweetheart. That was why Josh was the talk of the school.

 

But now, Josh is the talk of the school for an entirely different reason. Choruses of “he looks sick lately” and “he snapped at the teacher yesterday” can be heard regularly amongst the chatter of students in hallways and classrooms. People talk, and they talk loud, and they don’t care that Josh can hear it. “He’s lost a lot of weight, too . . .” _Good_ , Josh thinks, _it’s working_. This is why Josh is the talk of the school.

 

Josh is gone, withered away from self-starvation. Hunger pains are a must, stomach growls are victories, and Josh is so, so gone.

 

He knows no one cares. He knows the only reason people have noticed is because they’re so used to ogling over his body. But did anyone ever stop to ask Josh how he felt about his clothes always being so tight? How people always called him “big?” It didn’t matter if they meant it in the sense that he was muscular, big was big, and big was _bad_.

 

But Tyler cares. Oh, Tyler cares. Tyler knows what Josh is doing, and he doesn’t know how to stop it. He tries to force Josh to eat, but he refuses. He doesn’t even deny that he’s starving himself, just tells Tyler that he “can’t let himself eat that.” And when Tyer _can_ get Josh to eat something, it’s never long before there’s a bathroom door slammed in his face and the horrid sounds of forced vomiting coming from the other side of the door.

 

Tyler has tried threatening him. He’s tried to tell him that he’s going to tell his parents, tell the principal, tell the hospital or _anyone_ if Josh continues doing this to himself. He’s even tried threatening him by saying he’ll break up with him if he doesn’t sort this out. But this all results in the same thing every time: “Don’t, Tyler. I’d kill myself if you did that.” Tyler knows it’s true. So he stays.

 

So Tyler definitely cares, and he’s still trying, but he’s always on edge, wondering when the day will come that Josh collapses and never gets back up again. He’s waiting for the day that Josh realizes enough is enough, and for everyone else to realize the same thing.

 

* * *

 

The assignment is simple; write a poem detailing your feelings toward someone or something important to you. Its vague, and Tyler likes it. He would like it a lot more if he could properly hear the instructions being given, but the sound of Josh’s stomach growling from the seat next to him is distracting, and disturbing. Josh isn’t deterred, though, and he’s certainly not apologetic, because when Tyler gives him a desperate, almost _pleading_ look, he just shrugs and focuses back on the front of the classroom.

 

The assignment is due in a week, and normally, that would be more than enough time for Tyler to write a poem. But this week, he had planned to focus his attention on his job while trying to keep his boyfriend alive, and he simply does not have time for all of these things.

 

* * *

 

The days pass by, and it’s two days before the project is due, and Tyler finally has a free moment. But rather than using this free time for working on his poem (which he still has no idea what will be about), he’s crying. He’s sitting on his bedroom floor, head in his hands as he sobs. He’s been calling Josh for the past half hour, trying to get in touch with him, trying to make sure he’s still alive, trying to tell Josh to eat something.

 

Tyler’s not crying because Josh won’t answer. Tyler is crying because he’s tired. He so tired of trying to understand why Josh is doing this. He’s so tired of watching Josh slowly kill himself, and so tired of listening to Josh tell him he actually _will_ kill himself if he tried to get a professional to help him stop. He’s tired of school, tired of his job, and, frankly, he’s tired of Josh.

 

Does he even love him anymore? Tyler doesn’t even know. When Josh actually seemed alive, it was so easy to say “I love you.” So easy to hug him and kiss him and mess around with him. But now? Now Tyler’s too afraid to hug him because he fears he might shatter every bone in his body. Tyler’s too afraid to kiss him because he doesn’t want to taste the vomit on his lips. He’s too afraid to mess around with him because he fears he might push him too far physically or emotionally, and Josh will tell him he’s going to kill himself.

 

And now? Tyler isn’t sure he loves him anymore.

 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.

 

An hour later, Tyler is done crying. He’s still sitting on his floor, still having made no progress with his poem. Suddenly, his phone next to him lights up with a text from Josh. **_my phone died_ ** , it says. That’s it. Tyler could cry again, could wallow in his self-pity and his exasperation toward Josh, but he doesn’t. He picks up a pen and paper instead.

 

* * *

 

The next day in class, Josh and Tyler sit together as usual. Josh’s face looks especially boney today. His eyes are so sunken in Tyler fears they will retreat all the way back into his skull. His cheek and jaw bones are sharp enough to cut your finger if you slid it against it. His body so emaciated he looks like he’s never eaten a meal in his life.

 

Tyler is not talking to Josh today, but Josh doesn’t care. He’s too busy, running the calculator in his head, counting counting counting calories and how long he has to run today and when his parents won’t be home so he can binge and purge if he feels the need. He’s too busy thinking about these things, these very important things, to be focused on the way Tyler is ignoring him.

 

They don’t talk for the rest of the day. Tyler doesn’t cry, and Josh doesn’t eat. Tyler picks up a pen again, and Josh steps on the scale.

  

* * *

 

The next day in class is the day the poems are due. For whatever reason, Tyler is elated to hear that they will be presenting them in front of the class. He doesn’t volunteer, waits patiently for the teacher to call on him. Normally, he’d become a shaking mess when the teacher calls his name. But this time, when he hears “Tyler Joseph!” sound out through the classroom, he jumps up eagerly.

 

He’s clutching the paper tightly, ink neatly printed onto the sheet in such a way that brings it to its most plenary form of perfection. He’s clutching the paper tightly and his heart races as he looks Josh directly in the eyes, face void of emotion as he looks back to the paper and begins to read.

 

“My flower has just sprouted, a fine herb freshly grown.

It sticks its stems into the world, a place it must call home.

Youthful and lively, completely still intact,

My flower knows no bounds, and puts up no act.

 

My flower is just five days old, and embodying minority.

It hopes to one day grow up strong, to be the great oak tree.

It settles its fragile mind into a state of peace,

And forgets the image of falling apart, brittle leaf by leaf.

 

My flower is now ten days old, and is seeing different things.

What once was full of beauty is now breaking at the seams.

A deeper look throughout the grass has reared the ugly truth.

And I fear, my friend, my sprout has lost its youth.

 

My flower is sixteen days old, and is beginning to look dreary.

Its petals are destroyed, its stem has fallen barren- nearly.

It denies itself of sunshine, of water, and my love.

For within its world of garden, other flowers grow above.

 

My flower is eighteen days old, and has importances to carry out.

Internal battles wreck its stem, forever hidden, they’re brought about.

I wish I fed it two drops more, I wish I would have known.

I wish I saw the garden more, the place I may’ve called home.

 

Now my flower is wilting, and it shivers all the time.

It whines through fight of lack of warmth, and clings to steal mine.

I wish my flower wouldn’t flag, wouldn’t sag or droop or fall.

It would see the thing that I can see, and respond to its true calls,”

 

Tyler looks up momentarily to see Josh breathing heavily, eyes darting between Tyler and the door. Tyler draws in a breath, looking back down at his paper to finish this off,

 

“But now my flower has let itself wilt, and sees nothing at all.”

 

The class sits in stunned silence, and Tyler can’t bring himself to look up as he walks over to the teacher’s desk, handing her the paper silently. She takes it with a concerned look, but congratulates him on how wonderful the poem is anyway. The class is still silent as Tyler looks out at them, not making eye contact with anyone but Josh.

 

And it’s because they _know_ . They _know_ the poem is about Josh, because Josh is the talk of the school. They know the poem isn’t actually about a flower, and they know Josh is messed up. But they don’t dare talk now. No, they’d rather stay sitting in the static, silent tension of the air.

 

Suddenly, the silence is broken as Josh stands up, bolting out through the classroom door loudly. Tyler is quick to run after him, and the eyes of their classmates follow them in disbelief. But they stay in their chairs, because they can talk, but they don’t actually care.

 

In the hallway, Tyler stops Josh just outside of the bathroom. He grabs his shoulder gently, shuddering at how boney it is, and turns him. Josh spins around slowly, tears streaming down his face. His eyes don’t meet Tyler’s. Tyler speaks up first.

 

“Josh.” It’s not much, but it’s more than they’ve spoken in the past few days.

 

“I’m sorry,” Josh replies, and Tyler is genuinely surprised. He’s never been _sorry_ for his actions before, never shown any guilt, or any kind of emotion about it, for that matter. Tyler grabs his hands gently, interlocking their fingers as Josh looks up, sniffling. “I want you to get better,” he says. “I can’t watch you hurt yourself anymore, Josh. I care about you,” he says, because he still can’t say he loves him.

 

Josh nods instantly, convincingly. And for a moment, Tyler thinks that maybe, _maybe_ it’ll be okay. Maybe the poem really resonated with Josh, woke him up somehow. Maybe Josh will recover, maybe he’ll get better.

 

“Okay,” Josh says, because that seems to be all he can muster up right now, “I will,” he continues, and _God_ does Tyler believe him. It’s Tyler’s turn to be at a loss for words, so instead, he brings both of their connected hands to his lips, and kisses the back of each of Josh’s hands. He’s being so delicate, so mindful of how easy it would be to snap Josh’s wrists with such a simple move. But he doesn’t, and he breathes out a sigh of relief.

 

“We should go back to class.”

 

“Yeah, let me go wash my face first,” Josh says, and Tyler nods and lets go of his hands. He turns to head back to their classroom, while Josh turns to head into the bathroom. With one final glance behind him to make sure Tyler’s not following, Josh pushes into a stall and shoves two fingers down his throat.


End file.
